


Never Noticed Your Eyes Until Now, Love

by Divine_Elixir



Category: We Happy Few (Video Game)
Genre: (;, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, First Time Bottoming, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Probably spoilers idk, Romantic Fluff, yall know who bottoming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-07-15 21:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16071632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Divine_Elixir/pseuds/Divine_Elixir
Summary: (AU, Also Spoilers! The Very Bad Thing never happened and England managed to disperse any remaining German forces out. Ultimately, no one has to take Joy and people happy af.)After the unimaginable Victory of England, the home island of Wellington Wells happily announces a celebration party to it's Wellies and Welletes. Everyone seems so wonderfully cheery,Except for Constable Stephens and Arthur Hastings.





	1. Victory Is Inevitable

 

* * *

 

 

     " **Victory!** ". Those words gleaming off of the old, antique TV that Percy would seemingly insist to talk back to, or even knock on it as if it was some magic ball. Whatever the case, Percy was certainly screaming at the sight of the words that took him about 4 seconds to process the joy into his mind. Even though it seemed so vague, with it's bold font letters taking up the whole screen in a cool, but bright baby blue, he knew exactly what it meant. The victory of England, it finally happened. It was about damn time. All these confusing, loud drills at his workplace to practice for any enemy invasion was really getting to him. But all of that tension fortunately went away in a snap.

"They did...They did it, Arthur!" He shouted in such glee, it was almost heart-warming as he raised his hands and swung 'em around in celebration, his own little mini celebration. Percival was never the one to shout out so suddenly, he was usually quiet. But for this, he didn't seem to hold back at all with his joy. Which was good for a change, since he always had a cautious aura ever since the Germans invaded.

Arthur's face and reaction, if you would even call it a "reaction", more of a dead-panned face, was the COMPLETE opposite of Percy.

Arthur seemed, well, seemed nonchalant about the whole thing. Which sort of surprised older brother Percival, but at the same time, was expected. For him, it was confusing to describe what he was currently thinking. Before this wondrous news, which young Arthur should have CERTAINLY expressed some sort of reaction, he was quite cocky at the fact England would gain the upper hand. Not only that, but he simply scoffed at the fact when a fellow Wellie or Wellete would cry or wail at the thought of the Germans totally eradicating the island. Which to him, he thought they were too "dramatic", just simply because they would cry.  At the same time though, you would think he would have smiled or whispered a barely audible "Yes!" in quiet victory, but no. Nothing.

"Didn't I tell you we would win, Percy? Christ's, people were CRYING about their crumpets being taken away from the rationing diet." Arthur said dreadfully. As if the whole thing burdened him with disbelief or utter nonchalance, Honestly, both traits are in his favor from the looks of it.

Just as Percy was about to give him those "Don't be so careless' looks, the doorbell rings throughout the house, echoing in every open, dead space. Poor Percival looked inconvenienced, just about to prove his brother wrong by a glare. Yes, a glare. And Arthur certainly wasn't gonna stay slumped down on the couch to be glared at. He took the opportunity to stand up and walk over to the front door, opening the never-ending locks installed by the previous owner, sluggishly swinging it open. And Arthur was in a real treat when he saw Edmund standing there in his bright, blue postman uniform. He looked both full of glee, presumably from the news, and burdened from the stack of post cards and envelopes bulking slightly out of his bag. Already newspapers writing about this? The news happened about 9 minutes ago. Or was it something else? Arthur was pondering at the thought, pushing his glasses further up to his eyes, lost in his thoughts as Edmund began speaking.

"The town is holding a party, Arthur. Isn't that exciting? Everyone is invited, no one is left out. Now we can finally sleep without worrying for an invasion." Edmund said happily, but quiet. As if the news did indeed make him happy, but not as over joyous Percy was. 

"A party? Haven't been to one in years. Unless you can count the time Percy wearing his clothes for a year without exposing himself in public, in which even I thought that was worth celebrating."

"Come on, Arthur. It isn't like any other party. It's a CELEBRATION. There will be the typical stuff there. Food, dances, and all that."

Arthur was never the one for parties, really. Which is surprising since he is more of social butterfly than his older brother Percy, who even shivers at the thought of going to a stranger's party. Thank god he took his time in taking to know people, otherwise he would be jumping out of his damn knickers at every "Lovely Day!" for every stranger that greeted him. 

Nonetheless, Arthur was considering it. The constant tension of the town's fear of invasion was wearing him down. Not badly or anything, but just annoyingly. The idea of free food, some nice music, and even the high possibly of drowning his conscious in booze? How could he say no to that?

"Why not? What's the worst that could happen?"

 

* * *

 

     The absolute fucking worst happened.

     Constable Stephens absolutely abhorred the idea of parties and parties themselves. First of all, they were mandatory for bobbies to attend to. So if he was busy wiping his ass or drinking down his hopes and dreams with never ending amounts of Scotch in an alleyway, he would have to get to the location of the party under an hour. Which for him was impossible since most of the time he was doing both actions. At the same time. They weren't easy to get to either, especially during the weekend where the streets would be bustling with non-stop chattering and crowds of couples smooching sloppily openly in front of the public like a pair of lovely-dovely idiots. Or was he is just lonely? He really couldn't care otherwise, the parties are still hard as bullocks to reach. He COULD use the bobby poppers, but bad luck is in town because they are in currently being repaired after someone filled them with whip cream. Yes, fucking whip cream.

Second of all, keeping the parties tame and under control is an absolute NIGHTMARE. It's like trying to stop raging bulls from destroying or fucking everything. Stephens would have to drag some poor, drunk cunt out the party. Only to be shouted at about how he hasn't have the balls to beat the fuck of out them. Which 2 out of 5, he probably gave in to. Even worse than that, he can't even have a little fun of his own. Having to watch some wise ass lad hit on some poor lady until he gets too far because she can't just say "no" for some reason.

Third of all....Actually there is no third of all, really. Other than he fancies men. Which the sight of a nice lad gets him rock hard in his trousers. He doesn't think this would affect the way he handles parties and all. And if he gets hard, he could just blame it on some lady's massive tits. Wellington Wells don't really take homosexuals too kindly, or anywhere else really. He keeps this to himself. And when he can't suppress the urge, he blows some steam off somewhere secluded, like a bathroom or an alleyway. The thought of naked women for him is generally boring. He longs for something more  _exciting_ and _inciting._

"What am I thinking? Il have to go anyways. Not like I have a choice" He mumbles tiredly as he tumbles to his bed after a painfully excruciating day of dealing with 4-century old ladies and petty thievery. The bulking, 1.96 meter man takes off his uniform coat, placing it beside him. Dark, but seemingly gorgeous hairs raise up in unison from the sudden cold breeze hitting his chest. He runs his hands down to the buckle of his belt, unbuckling it as it grows loose around his hips. 

Stephens shakes off his clingy pants off of his muscular, tall legs. Shaking off the shoes off of his feet, he finally slumps his back down onto the overly soft mattress. Releasing a relaxed breath from his cracked lips, he throws his hat across the room.

Too bad he won't get any action in the party or after.

Or so he thought.

 

 

 

 


	2. Is This What They Call Fate?

 

* * *

 

  
     It was an evening different to his usual routine, unfortunately. The streets were empty, upon from the occasional lost, old granny or a drunkie skipping on the streets naked. Stephens expected the streets to be empty of course empty since today is the celebration party. A completely, useless party that no one needed. We won, that's it. Why do they have to add a party? But at least he could get there easily, without the annoyance of having to push through people and such. Nevertheless, he still missed his usual routine, where it consisted of knocking down running thieves or leading a drunkie home safely, only to just "borrow" their canteen. Oh, that sweet, sweet alcoholic canteen. Constable Stephens was used to it all by now unlike the rookies who joined the constabulary, they'd complain about the too-tight fitting uniforms or how "unfair" it is for older constables to have more pay than they do. The little cunts they are. Don't they know poor old Stephens' works more hours then the time they have to wash the dog shit off of their church shoes? Anyhow, the hulking man had to head over to the party and watch over the Wellies and Wellettes just to get a good day's pay. He was not about to let some scrawny rookies or a damn party get the best of him. After all, he's been doing this for over a decade? Or was it two? His thoughts suddenly trailed off when he noticed his reflection on a tainted puddle of water on the ground as he was walking.  
He hadn't had a good shave in a while. Oh boy, did he look like he did need one.

  
     Icy, bold blue eyes stared back at him from his reflection. His uniform too tightly embracing areas he wish were loosen more. Bloody hell, did he sure need a shower. Thick strands of dark, brown hair peaked out from under his hat. His large hand lifting it upwards as he runs the other through his hair, placing his hat back down. He had forgotten to comb his hair into it. The upper constabulary are ESPECIALLY fucking tedious about it for some reason, supposedly to seem well-mannered and proper to teach young lads how to dress and such. Stephens couldn't understand why. How could you be AND look "well-mannered" and "proper" when you are beating the living daylights out of a petty thief?  
As the constable looked up, he was suddenly crashed into and knocked down by someone seemingly *too* runny up today. What in the bloody hell was that?! They caught him completely off guard (Which he wasn't suppose to do in the first place since he was working) trying to look presentable for the cheeky fucking constabulary--

  
A sudden knockdown from ANOTHER unknown force came before the constable, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Ah, fuck, Sorry mate, I didn't mean to push you down...Now, where the hell are my glass-" They were quickly interrupted by a crackling noise. In which the unknown assailant looked down and picked up the twisted, damaged glasses. A distressed sigh left their lips, they didn't sound exactly happy. Not only were they in trouble for knocking a constable down, but they broke their pair of glasses. At least they won't be able to see the upcoming punch they will receive in 10 seconds or so.  
"Mate? Sorry, lad, but I ain't exactly your mate. For your information, I'm a goddamn--" In what seemed to be a coincidence by constant interruption, Stephens looked up from the ground. What he sees is a slender, tall man with cracked glasses settled on his nose. He was wearing a nice, luxurious black suit. Which outlined his uptight, tensed shoulders, down to his chest, down to his navel, and so on. Stephens didn't even realize his eyes were ever so 'wandering" down this stranger's body as he finishes his sentence in a mumble. "--constable." It took about a second or two before the stranger's lips parted to speak. "Excuse me, Constable, I didn't mean to crash into you like that. I was in a hurry for the party." He spoke in a worrisome, distressed tone. Probably because not only did he knockdown a constable by accident, but his glasses were cracked and crooked in an annoyingly unfixable form. Boy, did he have many things to worry about right now other than the party.

 

"The party? Oh yes, of course. THE party. The only one all of Wellington are invited to go." Stephens suddenly regains his imposing posture again as he snaps out of his lewd stares of the stranger, something that he hoped the stranger didn't notice. Hopefully he didn't. "Lad, the party is still ongoing, but far from what I know, it ain't ending any sooner. There was no need to run at all. But since you already seem to regret your choice of running..." He lowers his voice, as if it weren't already deep enough, and begins to intrude this stranger's personal space by leaning in his face, a soft, but malicious smile forming upon his lips. Oh, the many ideas of how to punish this lad began to intoxicate his mind in malicious ways. "Look, please, Constable, I didn't mean to crash into you, it was an accident!" The stranger hastily spoke in an attempt to assuage the constable's threatening form, only to chatter his teeth slightly in fright and trip over his excuses in order to 'worm' his way out of trouble. "Tag along with me, lad. That's your fine for your little accident." The words softly spoken to the stranger, the constable leaning back with then a reassuring smile. Not only did this confuse him, his screaming anxiety and nervousness pushed him to nod in agreement to this 'fine'. "Alright, is...that it? I just have to tag along with you?" In no damn way is he gonna make the situation worse by refusing so, feeling if he so refuses, the next stop with be in cuffs. The constable only nods, and turns to walk down the pavement with the stranger following in a hurry after him, this time, with a little more precaution.

 

"The name is Constable Stephens, refer to me in whatever you fancy to address me in. Constable Stephens, Stephens, Constable, I don't really care." He says as he adjusts his hat and uniform, looking at the stranger as if expecting his name in return.

 

"Arthur. My name is Arthur Hastings."

 

* * *

 

      Boy, did Arthur have many things to worry about. First of all, he would have to visit his local repair shop to have his broken glasses fixed after the party, which right now are settled on his long nose, though basically now they are useless to see out of. Second of all, he was going to have to beat the daylights out of Sally Boyle, his so called best mate, tsk. You are going to be late, she said. Or the party is soon ending, she said. What a liar! A filthy, little liar! If she said none of those damn lies, he wouldn't have to tag along with what seemed the most threatening, towering constable he ever met. Even his deep voice scared him, let alone his own massive height which made him feel small, and he himself was pretty tall. Not only that, but he was going to hang out with this constable the rest of the party in lieu of his stupid accident. Arthur only sighed with a tired heart and a worried mind, he would have to watch his words around this man or off it is in cuffs. Though something told him he wouldn't have to, that he could speak to this constable normally, like a normal Wellie. This constable seemed laid back and relaxed, and the harmless fine assured Arthur he had nothing to worry about. As long as he kept it smooth and simple, he would have no trouble and could go home fine free. (Not technically, but you know what he means.) 

 

As they arrive at the main gates of the main city hall, Constable Stephens verifies his authentication to the security intel of the gates, which he thought was a pain in the ass since the process took about an unnecessary five minutes just to be scanned. Being verified, the white gates open slowly, with an impatient Stephens pushing the flimsy gates aside as Arthur follows behind him, closely. Arthur, being eager as he is, runs up the welcoming, marble steps to enter the hall in excitement. He can already hear cheerings and laughter of happy Wellies and Welletes in affable unison. Though he simply did not care for that, but for the endless possibilities of expensive booze and fattening food waiting there for him to consume. "Hastings, wait!" He says in annoyance as he quickly grabs the back of Arthur's suit, pulling him back to him with force, but only for young Hastings to trip back and fall onto him as they both tumble clumsily to the hard ground. They both groan in mild pain at the unexpected tumble, and make immediate eye contact which sends both with a heavy tint of red rise up from their embarrassed faces, though the constable looks slightly pleased and warm, though Arthur seemed the opposite with a nervous sweat and avoiding glances. They look away in awkward unison as Arthur attempts to get off of Stephens, only for his curious knee to press up against the constable's groin by accident, which jolts deliciously at the sudden attention given. Again, they both stop to stare each other at the feeling of the inappropriate touch. And with a mumbled apology, Arthur successfully gets up without another 'small" accident. He feels rather slightly embarrassed and stressed, with millions of nervous thoughts of the feeling of getting in trouble poking at him and taunting. Constable Stephens only stands up, dusting his uniform and adjusting his hat. Arthur stares down with his hands behind his back, like a small boy caught stealing a lollipop being scolded by his mother. He expects trouble, but only looks up in unexpected curiously when he feels large hands adjusting his tie and suit. 

 

Arthur blinks in surprise, and stares up to look into the constable's eyes in a questioning manner, whom smiles at him warmly and leans upon his ear as he feels his warm breath upon him, which tingle him with tiny electrical impulses. "No running on city hall property, Hastings." He says as he leans back and continues to walk on the steps, whom leaves oblivious Arthur in awe of what just happened under a span of two minutes.

 

He only feels his heart tingle and beat, repeating his seemingly meaningless, but seductive way of how Stephens whispered it into his ear over and over in his confused mind.

 

Is this what they call fate?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I KNOW HOW LATE I AM, IM SO SORRY.
> 
> don't kill me pls.


End file.
